


In Remembrance and Honor

by Kailene



Category: Jack Dalton - Fandom, MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Emotional Hurt, Episode Fix-it, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Jack + Kinematics + Safe Cracker +MgKNO3 + GTO, S05E05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28780740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kailene/pseuds/Kailene
Summary: Mac goes to visit a fallen friend
Comments: 20
Kudos: 36





	In Remembrance and Honor

**Author's Note:**

> With what a good part of the fandom expects to happen in this evenings episode (5x5), I wanted to get this finished and posted before hand, I can't believe I made (with time to spare). A small part of me is still hoping that this is all a ruse, that Jack doesn't actually gets killed off. 
> 
> But if he does, this is an episode fix-it, the mourning and grief that I know we won't get and what I'd love to see. And well, if by chance we get our little miracle, then this will be an AU. 
> 
> Thank you to impossiblepluto for your feedback and read through and to RiatheMai for all of your advice. 
> 
> Note - Mac calling Jack Sr, "JD" is from an as of yet unfinished fic; a tag to episode 3x14, Mac visiting Jack's dad after Jack leaves for his mission

The stone path that Mac walks on comes to an end and his steps start to falter. His body stops, muscles locking up and refusing to move just inside the shade of the trees that line either side of the walkway. 

Each of the hundreds of times that he has come here since… _since_ is all that his mind will allow him…he has been able to make it just that much further than the last, that much closer to the destination that he both needs to get to and never wants to see again.

Or to ever acknowledge. 

One of Mac’s hands strays to his chest, fingers running along the long chain that he now wears at all times, the metal cool against the skin beneath his henley and he knows that there is no denying the truth—as much as he yearns to do so. 

Emotions surge within him, crash down in powerful waves that leave him unable to catch his breath; drowning and adrift, hollow, directionless. 

Alone. 

Mac inhales shakily, exhales the air on a breath that shudders his chest. This visit isn't about him. It’s not about soothing a wound that will never heal or trying to balm a soul torn apart. 

It's about honor, and sacrifice, and family. It’s about a great man who has paid the ultimate price for the safety of others.

He wills feet that feel like they are encased in cement to move. His full attention and concentration purposely placed on putting one foot in front of the other on the soft ground beneath him, on the bright, early morning sun that hits his face as he passes beneath the trees, on the cloudless, blue sky above and the expanse of plush, green lawn that stretches out in front of him. 

He weaves his way carefully through the landscape that’s dotted with small flags waving in the slight breeze, finally slowing to a stop and he touches his fist gently onto the top of the first gravestone.

“Hey JD…,” Mac greets softly. “Sorry I haven’t been around in a while, but, ah…”

Mac shrugs and his voice trails off as his eyes drift over to the matching monument that sits only a few feet away. He knows he doesn’t need to explain himself to the senior Dalton, He knows that the older man completely understands the reasons behind his prolonged absence. 

“I’m, uhm…” his gaze never falters from the headstone he has in his sight as his words fall off once again, voice wet and chin trembling when he finally continues. “I’m gonna go over and talk for a bit, okay?”

Mac forgoes sitting in his usual spot against the back of the large stone behind him. His feet instead taking him around to the far side of the other gravesite, his legs all but giving out on him as he sinks to the green grass beside the headstone.

With a trembling hand Mac reaches out, lightly, reverently tracing the name engraved into the stone, granite rough against the pads of his fingers. He pulls his knees to his chest, hand still resting on the rough marble, drops his head and lets the tears flow freely.

**_Jack Wyatt Dalton_ **

Despite all of his training, despite all of his experience that told him to the contrary to not have these thoughts, Mac always talked _when_ Jack was coming home to them, never _if._ Clung to that during the long weeks turned months turned _years_ that his best friend was away from them. 

This pain, this _agony_ and grief, burns brighter and hotter than watching his father sacrifice his own life to save him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says as he lifts his head, words a choked off, barely-there whisper. 

He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for… 

For not coming here sooner?

For the whiskey fueled bender he went on after he received the news, raging at the world and whoever would listen at the unfairness of taking such a good man from this earth? 

From _him_. 

Or for the angry words he spewed in private at a flag-draped coffin for breaking a promise that he would return to him? Return to them all, to the family left behind that was never the same. 

That will never _be_ the same ever again. 

A promise that deep-down Mac knows could hold no assurance.

Or for not being there at Jack’s side? For not keeping him safe and alive like Jack has done for him for so many years?

For not holding to his end of their mantra, _you go kaboom, I go kaboom_? 

_“Y’got nothin’ to b’sorry for, hoss. House money just goes so far, and I went n’reached my limit, is all. Nothin’ y’coulda done, bother.”_

Jack’s low drawl, full of reason and acceptance, sounds inside his head, seems to carry along on the breeze, warm and gentle as it curls and wraps around Mac’s body. 

“We’re just going to have to agree to disagree on that one, big guy,” Mac tells his best friend brokenly. 

The only solace that Mac has found in this entire nightmare is in the details of the After-Action Report, because nothing is ever truly redacted for Riley Davis, especially one that is on a personal crusade for answers. 

When the end came, it was quick. 

Jack gone from this world before any pain from the blast would have registered. His remains identified by his dog tags, the very ones that Mac wears now. 

Fine tremors shake his body as he sits in the early morning quiet beside his best friend, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap, pulling at the blades of grass beside his feet, fingers digging into the cool, damp dirt. 

Mac reaches a hand into the inner pocket of the black leather jacket that he’s taken to wearing now and pulls out a paperclip, mindlessly twisting the thin metal in a bid to quiet his restless, shaking hands. 

He opens his mouth to speak, only to close it again just as quickly, the words and stories that once flowed so easily between the two of them before, gone. He’s lost, not sure if he will ever find anchor or peace again.

“ _Jack…_ ”

His best friend's name breaks around a sob. It's the only word he can get out of a throat so tight with grief he feels like he's being choked. 

It's the only word he knows. The only one he wants--the only one he _needs_... The name forever synonymous with comfort, and home, and safety. 

“You always made this look so damn easy when you spoke to your pops. Like it was just an everyday conversation. And I-I…”

He shakes his head. A quick, almost violent movement that makes the world tip and swim around him. As if the very act itself, the force of the motion will free him from this nightmare that he longs to escape from. 

“I don’t know how to _do this_ , Jack,” Mac grits out. One of his hands flails about, encompassing himself, the cemetery, the conversation, the world beyond; any and all of it, Mac isn’t sure. 

He’s not sure of anything anymore. 

_Sure y'do, hoss, you’re the smartest guy I've ever known. You'll figure it out, like y'always do._

"Well, maybe I don't want to this time." Mac swipes the back of his wrist angrily across his wet eyes then drops it back onto his lap with a long sigh. 

“It’s all jumbled, Jack,” Mac states, gesturing at his head with the tip of the paperclip. “It’s too loud and… Too quiet and too bright, and-and too dark… Too… _everything_. It’s all a mess and I can’t _think_ anymore... Nothing makes any sense... I don’t—I can’t find the words. We never needed them… You always just _knew.._. What I was thinking, what I needed. Even when you were on your hunt you were still there, and now…” 

Mac slumps against the headstone; the granite cool against the side of his cheek. He lets the sentence drop because he doesn’t know how to continue. Doesn’t know what comes after _now._

“I see you sometimes,” Mac confesses softly. 

_D’ya now?_

His eyes slide sideways expecting to see a ghostly Jack sitting right there, legs kicked out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and an amused expression on his face, to go with the rough southern voice whispering in his head. But all he sees is Jack’s name and a set of dates forever etched into the stone. Mac squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away. 

“In a crowd of people, across the room in a bar, in the shadows while I’m jogging… Okay, yeah,” Mac agrees, easily acquiescing to the correction that he knows Jack will give. “I’ll give you that one sounds a bit off-kilter. You always maintained that there was absolutely no point in running unless you were being chased.” 

The laugh he lets out, barely there, but present nonetheless, surprises him at how genuine it is. The warmth that the memory brings him. 

“I even thought I saw you in a grainy Russian intel photo.” He scoffs. “Yeah…, Russ said I need more _time off_. Desi just told me I needed to _accept it_. That I was hurting myself further by not moving on.” Mac huffs out a breath, the anger at feeling pitied and coddled rising in him once more. 

"How am I supposed to do that, huh?" Mac asks. He pushes himself off the headstone and sits up straight. He hangs his head, watches his fingers as they continue to bend the metal in his hands, thin wire wrapping around each other to form the intricate design.

"Every time my door opens and boots walk across my floor, I expect to turn around and it be you standing there; six pack in one hand, apology in the other... You telling me it was the only way you could finish off Kovac and finally come home to us for good... I'm waiting for someone else to see you somewhere like I do... I-I'm waiting for your voice on the other end of my phone each time it rings." 

Mac's voice cracks and breaks. His heart is torn, shattered into a million pieces that will never mend itself back together again, and he aches fiercely deep down in his soul. He sucks in a stuttering breath and clears his throat. It does no good. His voice quivers as he continues, the words Mac wishes he had spoken years before to his partner, broken and full of pain.

"You're the most important person in my life, Jack… You t-took a nineteen-year-old know-it-all kid with a chip on his shoulder and angry at the world under your wing... Despite everything I put you through, you stuck with me. You were a-always there for me… Always had my back, no questions asked... And you always believed in me... Even when I d-didn't believe in myself.”

He lifts his head and watery eyes stare at Jack’s name and Mac imagines it’s Jack himself sitting there beside him. He longs to have him back at his side, to talk with and share a beer just one more time. 

Mac would give anything, _do anything_ , to make that thought a reality. 

“You taught me so much... You taught me how to be a man, Jack. How do I just move on?” 

The wind rustles the trees around him, gentle and calm. Mac watches as other people walk about the grounds, planting flowers, spreading out a picnic lunch with their departed loved one. His gaze returns to the monument beside him, to Jack’s name, as he swallows thickly. 

"I don't think I ever thanked you for that." Mac has a lot of regrets in his life, but this one by far is the biggest. He can't remember if he ever said the words, said them enough. Let the most important person in his life know how he felt. 

"Told you how grateful I am... How lucky I am to have you in my life... H-had… That I had you in my life. I'm not going to forget any of, Jack... I promise." Mac vows. "I'm going to make you proud of me."

The vibration of his phone startles him, the buzzing loud in the peace of the cemetery. He digs into the pocket of his jacket and pulls it out, swiping the screen to check who's looking for him, and the message brings a small smile to lips despite how he's feeling. 

_Tell the Skipper I said, Hey._

_Teams all together_

_Have one on ice waitin' for you_

The text isn't signed, nor is the phone number where it came from visible, but Mac doesn't need either of those to know who it's from, Jack's second-in-command, Eli—a big mountain of a man, with an infectious laugh and the same twinkle in his eye for mischief as Jack—having been the one who gave Jack the rank of "Skipper" for their task force. 

Mac turns his phone around and shows the text to Jack. "I know there's a story there as to why your men called you _Skipper_ and not _Sarge_ or _boss_."

He waits for an answer, but Jack is silent. "Oh, so _now_ you're going to stay quiet. That's alright, I'll get the story... Plus few more, I'm sure. The team is all coming over to my place today. For a cook-out… A celebration for you... To you... And everything you mean to all of us. And by _team,_ I mean everyone... Dalton's Heroes has doubled in size. Your men all made it home, Jack," Mac says softly around a lump in his throat. 

"Kovac is dead... For this good this time, verified by DNA," Mac clarifies, wants to make sure that Jack knows that the men put under his command, under his care are safe and that he accomplished what he set out to do. "You saved a lot of lives... The whole world is safer now because of you... And I am so proud of you." 

He sits on the grass, doesn’t bother to wipe away the tears that wet his cheeks and blur his vision. He knows he should answer the text message, let them know he's on his way. But he doesn't, can't make himself move to do so. 

If he thought that it was hard to bring himself here, he’s finding it infinitely harder to bring himself to leave. 

"I have to leave, Jack... Just for a bit though." After he says the words, he's not sure who he's assuring, he or Jack. "I'll come back, bring Riles with me. She's... She’s okay, Jack... I promise. We're taking care of each other. And besides, if trouble does come--not that we can't handle it, we learned from best after all--but we have ten Spec Ops guys watching our backs. We'll be okay, big guy." 

Mac makes a few more twists to the paperclip in his hands and then leans forward and presses it into the soft earth at the base of Jack's headstone. 

"It's a Celtic Arrow Knot," he explains of the design that looks like a woven arrow, his voice strained and choked as he continues. "it's means, brother, Jack… Always."

Mac reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a dime, glancing at the coins already lined up on the marker. Pennies and nickels make neat stacks, and he adds his to the column of dimes left by others who have served with Jack. 

Lined up in a straight line across the very front of the memorial are five quarters, shining in the blazing sun. One for each member of the strike team that was with Jack on his last mission; five men who came home because of the sacrifice one man. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am a huge Jack!girl, and could I really kill my favorite man? There is a follow up fic in the planning stages that I hope to get posted for Cairo Day or George Eads Appreciation Week.


End file.
